Everything Stays The Same
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Charlie is used to being alone. She hasn't had a family for years. And yes, she can even handle being sick alone, thank you very much. Too bad the Winchesters disagree. *sick!Charlie, worried!boys, awesome!Castiel, one-shot for now*


_**Author's Note: **__Well, hello there. It's been awhile, hasn't it? To answer a few questions, yes, I still love Supernatural and yes, I will be back to writing and updating regularly. My real life has been intensely stressful and I haven't had time for fan fiction, but for the near future, I should have some more free time. Anyways, I'm back! I hope you guys will enjoy this story. Spoilers (mild) for season 8, but before the Trials._

* * *

"_There's always someone who cares. Someone whose life would simply stop. You just don't know it yet, or you haven't found them yet." _

― _Fuyumi Soryo_

* * *

Charlie Bradbury is used to being alone.

She's used to sitting in her empty apartment, cooking for one. She's adjusted to sitting on her well-worn leather couch, spilling Skittles all over the floor while watching her favorite comedy show, alone. Ever since she lost her family and became just a ghost in the system, Charlie assumed that she would be forever on her own.

And you know what? She's been content with that for years. Being alone has its perks—she decides where to go, what movies to see, what to eat each night. She has total control over her life. There's no one here to disagree with her or try to change her lifestyle.

But ever since she left Dick Roman's employ—really, ever since the Winchesters came barreling into her life—she's found that this life of freedom isn't exactly all that it's cracked up to be.

In fact, if she really admits it to herself, she's actually pretty lonely.

Her life has become a routine: get up, make breakfast, go to work, code software, go home, eat dinner, watch TV and then sleep. On the weekends, the routine changes with her LARP-ing and while she enjoys the connections she makes with her subjects, she can't help but keep them at a distance. She's living a lie after all. Charlie Bradbury—or really whatever name she's using this time—doesn't exist.

She is nothing in society—a no one. If she disappeared tomorrow, no one would notice. No one would care. She is a girl without any tie in the world, drifting endlessly in the wind. Before meeting the Winchesters, it had never bothered her before.

Now though . . . now she's starting to get depressed over it.

And when she wakes up on Sunday morning, her nose stuffed up and her eyes red and watery, she lets her head fall back against the pillow.

Because, leave it to her to get a cold on top of everything.

* * *

Charlie has been sick on her own before.

She's handled everything from high fevers, to the flu, to a hospital grade case of pneumonia by herself. She's never felt comfortable with being vulnerable with others and her trust issues prevent her from seeking help on her own.

"A warrior," Her father would tell her with a smile, rubbing her hair, "My little warrior."

Even now, years later, she finds that sentiment still rings true.

Of course, she won't let a simple cold bring her down.

Slowly, she blinks, trying to get the room around her to stop spinning before she pushes off the blankets and tries to get up. Her legs feel like jelly, but she manages to get upright and walk to her kitchen. Reaching for a box of cereal, she shakily pours out a bowl and practically collapses onto the barstool and begins to eat. She's got a mountain of files to get through at work and then her boss desperately needs her to code a few things. So, she just needs to push this illness aside and get back to her routine.

She can do that.

* * *

The numbers all swirl around on the computer screen.

Charlie takes a deep breath, trying to steady her rapidly beating heart. She has a million pieces of code to get through, not to mention updating this company's website and then processing a bunch of other stuff. She's got too much work, not enough time and this cold is really starting to get to her.

"C'mon, Charlie," She whispers, blinking harder, trying to clear the fog, "You can do this."

And with that, she goes back to typing.

* * *

"_You sound like crap, Charlie." _

She chuckles, but it dissolves into a cough that shakes her entire body.

"I'm fine, Dean." She lies.

"_Right. Sure." _Dean retorts, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Charlie practically collapses on her bed.

"Really," She insists, weakly, and jeez, if she sounds this bad, she wonders what Dean is thinking, "I'm good. Not my first time being sick."

"_Yeah?" _Dean keeps his voice deliberately light, waiting for her to reveal more.

She doesn't, of course. Trust issues, remember?

"I'll be good in a few days," Her head pounds and the room seems to spin, "Just gonna pop a few Advil and get some sleep." Except, she's pretty sure that she's taken the maximum dose of Advil allowed and she can't sleep, not until she gets her work done or else, she'll get fired.

"_Listen, Sam and I aren't too far from you. We could swing by—"_

"No!" She practically shouts, her voice going hoarse. The last thing she needs is for the two men that she pretty much idolizes to see her weak and sick like this. No, she wants the boys to know her as a kick-ass warrior queen, not some sad, pathetic, needy girl.

"_Okay," _Dean relents, _"But you call if it gets worse, okay?" _

It's easy enough to lie, "Okay."

* * *

She ends up being fired, but really, Charlie can't bring herself to care. She's huddled up in her bed, a mass of blankets covering her and she has the space heater on, but for the life of her, she can't get warm. Her teeth chatter, her body shakes and despite it all, Charlie wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry. She's never felt this sick before and she's scared.

For once, being alone seems to have backfired on her.

She wonders if she'll die here, huddled in her bed, felled by a simple cold. She doesn't know whether to laugh hysterically or weep at the thought.

Another tremor wracks her body and Charlie coughs, tasting copper. She doesn't need to see the telltale fleck of red on her pillow to know that things have crossed from the common cold to something seriously sinister.

She needs to call for help. She needs to go see a doctor, lack of insurance be damned. If she stays here, she'll no doubt wither away.

"Help." She whispers through cracked lips, a tear rolling down her cheek.

But no one is here. No one has been here in a long time.

"Charlie?"

Except, there are cerulean eyes suddenly meeting hers. A complete stranger in a trench coat kneels down by her bedside, his lips set in a grim line. Funny. She never expected the Grim Reaper to look so cute.

"Charlie?" He tries again, placing a cool hand to her forehead and she leans into the touch, practically whimpering when he removes his hand. But that's when she sees the phone in his hand and he sighs, "Definitely a fever, Dean."

Dean? The Grim Reaper works for Dean?

"She doesn't seem exactly coherent and my grace isn't stable enough. I could bring down the fever, but I don't want to risk doing anything else." Then grimly, "She needs a hospital."

A pause as he listens and Charlie burrows her head into her pillow, wishing the pounding in her brain would just stop.

"Understood. I'll see you there."

He turns to her once more, a soft smile on his lips.

"Who . . .?" But that's all she manages to get out before another cough seizes her and the world darkens as oxygen leaves her. When she comes to again, she's in the man's arms, securely pressed against his chest.

"I've got you, Charlie."

And then she feels like they're flying away.

* * *

She hates hospitals.

Hospitals remind her of death and darkness, always cold, always sterile. She lost her parents in a hospital, left her mother there to lie hooked up to machines. Hospitals are the endgame, the big boss battle of life for her.

She doesn't even know how she got here. She thought she was flying, but when she awoke, she found herself breathing with oxygen, a kind nurse placing wet cloth on her forehead.

She's alone.

* * *

She flutters in and out of consciousness.

Sometimes, she sees the pitying gaze of a nurse as she mutters something that Charlie can't quite make out. Other times, she's alone, listening to the machines whir in her dark hospital room. But it's on the third time she comes back to the realm of the living that she sees the man in the trench coat.

"You." Her breath wheezes, making the word sounds more jumbled than she would like.

The man with the cerulean eyes smiles at her, warm and bright, "I'm Castiel."

It takes longer than it should for the pieces to click together. Castiel, the angel, best friends with her boys and a huge part of the ship that she'd teased Dean about after checking the forums. She blinks, trying to get her vision to steady.

"You . . . brought me here?" She can't believe how foreign her own voice sounds and she struggles to get the words out, her chest feeling like she's got a huge weight on it, squeezing all the oxygen out of her lungs.

"Dean and Sam were concerned, but were still hours away," Castiel tells her softly, "With my abilities, I was able to get to you first."

"Dean and Sam—"

"She's right in here," A nurse says quietly and then shoots her a smile, "Miss Bradbury, your other brothers are here."

Charlie couldn't help the smile that alit on her face as Dean and Sam made their way into the room. Both of them were out of breath and had some impressive five o'clock shadow—had they rushed here just for her?—and while Sam thanked the nurse, Dean moves to the side of her bed.

"Hey, kiddo," His eyes are full of concern and she can tell from his tight smile that he's worried, "How are you doing?" He places a cool hand on her forehead, and she grins, so happy to see him.

Sam soon appears beside him, his lips tight in a frown, though he loosens up when he lays his eyes on her, "Hey, Charlie."

"You guys," Tears prick at her eyes, she forces herself to stay calm, "You didn't need to come. I know you're—"

"Gonna stop you right there," Dean interjects sharply, "We wanted to come."

"Yeah, Charlie," Sam tells her softly, "You're family."

Family—that's a word she hasn't heard in a really long time. For so long, she's been drifting by herself, going from one place to another, not making any meaningful connections. And now, she has a family? These boys . . . they're here for her?

"Family." She echoes, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Dean wipes it away, smiling, "Yeah. Now, just focus on getting better, okay? You've got a pretty nasty respiratory infection going on."

Sam takes a seat in a chair and Dean drags one over, "We'll be right here."

They're not leaving. She's not alone, not anymore.

"Get some sleep." Castiel soothes and Charlie allows her eyes to fall shut.

They're here. She doesn't have to do this on her own anymore. She doesn't need to constantly push herself. For right now, she can trust that the boys—her boys—are going to take care of her. It's a new feeling, but one so familiar to her.

Family.

She's not alone.

Not anymore.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Might do a part two of Charlie being cared for by the boys when she's released, but for right now, I'll mark this as complete. __Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


End file.
